The Stranger

Pulling his hips back, he put his whole hand between her legs and curled two fingers up into her. She cried out in surprise. He slowly moved his hand in small circles, amazed at how smooth she felt. Then pulling his fingers out, he directed his cock right into her entrance.

Seeing her brace subconsciously for the first thrust, he changed tactics. Instead of entering her right away, he kissed her. He kissed her like she had kissed him earlier -- with desperation and frustration and energy and confidence. He knew she could smell, could taste her own fragrance on his face, and yet she did not recoil or even flinch. Another way in which this woman was different from what he was used to. And as the kiss became more frantic, he pushed forward with his hips, driving steadily into her with one thrust until he was as far in as he could go.

Her back arched and she moaned loudly into his mouth, breaking their kiss to take a gasp of air. He held still, letting her adjust to his presence and giving himself a moment to enjoy the pleasant pressure of her walls around him. Ever since his wife had experienced some extreme moods swings upon resuming the pill after the birth of their second child, he had grown accustomed to using condoms these past few years, save for the occasional quickie during a "probably safe" time of month. But even when bare with his wife, it had been a long time since she had felt warm and wet and ready upon entry. At that moment, it felt as if his partner's channel was pulsing in time with his own heartbeat. She squeezed her muscles around him with a soft Ooooohhh, and he responded with a flex of his own inside her. And so they communicated -- wordlessly -- their joy in the sensations each was feeling.

He didn't want to begin thrusting, because he didn't want this to end. But on the other hand, every ounce of desire inside him was compelling him to thrust. He thought maybe if he just pulled back and pushed in one time, it would sate that desire for a few moments and he could continue enjoying the way she stared at the ceiling and trembled with lust. But one slow thrust demanded another. And another. And soon they had found a languid, comfortable rhythm.

She couldn't decide where to hold him. She gripped his shoulders, then his back, then pulled him towards her with hands on his ass. Her legs were splayed open, then pointed up, then wrapped around him.

"Everything feels so good; I feel so alive," she explained with a whisper, giving an embarrassed and surprised smile when they finally made eye contact again. "It feels like anything is possible." He could only nod in agreement. He was straining not from exertion but from the struggle to hold back. Holding back the desire to pound her into the mattress. Holding back the orgasm that had been ready to release since the moment her lips touched his cock. Holding back all the things he wanted to say, things he knew he shouldn't say in that moment.

"Can you-" she began, but had to stop and grunt as he pressed more roughly into her. "Can you be a little rough with my breasts?" Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be trying to find the right path to another release.

He looked down at the perfect mounds shaking below him, then pulled out of her. Her eyes opened wide in question for a moment, but then closed again as he rolled her onto her side. Spooning behind her, he quickly found her entrance again and slid slowly back into place. Holding his hips still, he wrapped his arms around her torso and began roughly kneading the flesh of her chest. She gasped in approval and he let out a moan of delight. Her body was perfect -- expertly designed for his pleasure.

As he rubbed and pulled, carefully tugging at a nipple until she squeaked, she began to move her ass back against him, trying to resume the motion of their hips. Leaving one hand to attend to the task she had requested, he used the other to cover her mound. Once again, he was amazed at the novel sensation of bare skin. He rubbed his broad hand around the spot where their bodies were joined. After a minute or two, he began focusing the movement of his fingers around her clit -- surrounding but not quite touching it.

"Mmm-hm. Yes. Keep doing that," she pleaded. She placed her hands on top of his and allowed her arm to be carried along with his motions. She turned her head back and tried to find his lips with hers, but his head was lowered in concentration, his lips resting on the bare skin of her shoulder. Before long, it didn't matter. She began squeezing her thighs and pleading for him to help her finish.

With broad strokes of his fingers, he gently rubbed her clit, causing her body to tense up. Her hand on his clenched tighter, pushing him down with just the right pressure. She stopped moving her hips and seemed like a coil ready to unwind. He pressed deep, switching to slow, firm strokes up inside her while he rubbed a little harder and faster with his hand. With all his concentration focused between her legs, his other hand only gripped tightly to her heavy breasts. With his lips wet, he pressed his mouth against her neck and hissed from exertion.

"Cumming!" she squealed, her neck red and straining. Then her hips abruptly convulsed, pulling her off of him. He felt the sudden coolness on his cock, but let her roll away. She was on her belly, shaking and moaning, and he lightly ran his hand along her perfectly curved ass and up her spine. She shivered in response. He watched her carefully, remembering what it had looked like years ago when his wife would cum like that. It pained him that it had been so long. He had in the past tried to explain to her that his pleasure was all the more diminished when it wasn't accompanied at some point by her pleasure. It illuminated to him the psychological significance of the sex act. It wasn't just about physical release, which is almost all he had with his wife lately. It was about sharing, communicating, doing for another what they really can't do for themselves, feeling needed because of that, feeling desired, feeling like an important and irreplaceable part of someone's pleasure.

He felt that way now.

"I had forgotten," she said, he voice shaky and muffled.

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. He wasn't really in the mood for conversation -- he was so close.

"I had forgotten what sex could be like," she explained. Then she seemed to re-enter the moment, looking at his face, then at the urgent need throbbing between his legs. "How do you want to-"

He climbed on top of her and thrust back in. Forcing his hands under her body, he held her ass with both hands, reveling in the feeling of her flesh filling his grip. Now not only his hips but also his arms controlled their motions, pulling her relentlessly against him. He kissed her nipples, teasing them back to stiffness. He kissed her neck as she arched her head back. He kissed her jaw and face and finally found her lips.

He was going to bruise her. His hips slammed so hard against her. His mouth pressed so mercilessly to hers. He remembered when he had first started kissing his high school girlfriend. They were each other's first kiss. The following week, they had spent so much time with their tongues doing battle that their jaws ached and their lips tingled. He wanted her to feel that -- he wanted her body to ache and tingle and remind her of this moment. He wanted her to blush and ache the next time she saw him. Her hands gripped his back and rubbed his neck. Her fingers ran through his hair and touched his cheek. They were both fighting to breathe.

"Are you going to pull out?" she gasped at one point.

"Are you sure?" was all he asked.

In response, she put her hands firmly on his flexing butt cheeks and pulled him towards her. He was setting the frantic pace, rutting against her in a race to finish, but each time he bottomed out, she pulled him tight. She spread her legs and tried to take him deeper.

As his hands pulled her ass towards him, he had a flash of imagination. Even if she wanted to pull away, she couldn't. He would fill her, no matter what she wanted. In this position, with his grip and leverage, he had the power to force her body to take his seed, to serve his pleasure. That's what this was about, that's why they were there, that's why her body existed in that second -- to serve his pleasure. And she was serving him well.

His hands squeezed tight, leaving red marks, no doubt. She could try to pull her hips away, but there was no way she could dislodge him now. He inhaled with a loud hiss and his back arched. He wasn't at home, there were no sleeping kids to worry about, no threat of interruption, no reason to hold back. He cried out in release -- announcing his pleasure and satisfaction as his cock released months of frustration and desire deep into her. He felt all of it draining out of him, he felt it being absorbed by her body as he was freed of that burden. He embraced her tightly and and continued kissing her, tears coming unbidden and unexpected in response to the great catharsis she was giving him. His cock pulsed again, less urgently, releasing the remnants of his essence into her intimate embrace.

He pulled his lips away and took deep breaths. Once he finished pulsing, but before he pulled out, she whispered again, "I had forgotten." Then in a soft voice, she spoke to the ceiling, "I needed this to remember what sex could be." He had no response. He had nothing but his exhaustion -- his satisfied exhaustion. His softening member slipped out of her as he rolled onto his back. She rolled towards him and covered him with a half-embrace, her head on his shoulder, his arm draped under her. One of her legs was wrapped across his middle, brushing against his contented member. They lay silently together, each lost in their own thoughts. They slept peacefully, intimately.

*******

He awoke slowly, groggily. Thirsty. He looked around in confusion and saw the nightstand clock. It was almost 5pm. Next to the clock was a bottle of water. He smiled. She knew. And she cared.

As he stood up, he noticed all the clothes were still on the floor, now at his feet. Hers were there as well. That's when he heard the sound of water running in the sink. He headed to the bathroom to take care of his own needs and almost bumped into her walking out. She was fully dressed in a much different outfit: loose shirt, yoga pants, hair pulled back into a quick ponytail. She looked every inch a soccer mom. He hadn't even noticed the overnight bag she had brought with her.

"Oh! You're up," she said, pulling her earrings out. "I've gotta run." She hastily sorted through the clothes on the floor, shrapnel from the explosive moment they shared. Picking out her own garments, she shoved them into her bag.

"Will you talk to your husband about this?" he asked, casually pulling his boxer briefs back on.

She gave him a wry smile. "No." Then straightening up, she looked thoughtfully out the window. "Though I dare say he'll reap the benefits of it."

He chuckled to himself and shook his jeans out. "Lucky guy."

"Damn right he is," she snapped. Then more softly, she asked, "Will you talk to your wife about it?"

He stopped mid-motion and gave her an "are you serious?" look. When she stared back at him unflinching, he relaxed and answered, "Only if she brings it up." That earned him an approving laugh.

She looked around the room, ensuring that she wasn't leaving anything behind. Then, standing a few paces away from him, she clutched her car keys and looked over at him. "Don't worry about checking out or anything, just leave when you're done, OK? I'll handle the rest."

"OK," he said, watching her for some other indication of what he should do. He shrugged his shirt on and began buttoning it.

"Well," she said, "thank you... stranger."

He smiled and replied, "Happy birthday, stranger." She turned and left. He shook his head as he retrieved his socks. A profound mystery...

*******

He noted with curiosity the extra car parked in his driveway when he got home. He pulled in behind his wife's car and walked casually inside. A little boy came running up to meet him.

"Grandpa's here! And Grandma!" his son announced happily, playfully gripping his leg. He heard the voices of his in-laws playing with the kids in the other room. Once he had extracted himself from the child's enthusiasm, he walked into the kitchen. His wife was humming happily as she prepared dinner. He noted with fondness the little streak of gray that flowed from her bangs back into her ponytail. Her bottom swayed to some unknown rhythm and she licked food off her fingertips as she turned around. She squealed when she bumped into him unexpectedly.

"Your parents? Really?" he asked with a smile.

"How was work?" she responded with a wink, reaching around him to open the fridge.

"Work was fine. When did they get here?"

"Rolled in shortly after you left for work," she answered.

"Should I get the guest room ready?" he asked, knowing it was too far of a drive for them to leave after dinner, especially if they had only arrived a few hours earlier.

"No. No need," she replied teasingly, like a woman who is waiting to spill a secret. He didn't indulge her game but instead waited until she couldn't contain herself. He didn't need to wait long. Without looking at him, she said, "I got them a hotel room down the road a ways. I already checked them in this morning."

"Oh really?" he said, trying to contain his smile. Then a thought suddenly sobered him up. "You are going to have your parents sleep on a hotel bed? Like... a... probably dirty hotel bed?"

His wife stopped swaying around the kitchen and stood still. Her eyes widened a moment, then sparkled. "Well," she said, stepping up to him and leaning her body on his, "Mom did say that maybe we would want to use the room for a night while they stay here with the kids..."

He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the familiar scent of her hair. She slipped her arms around him and sighed deeply. He could have stood there for hours, holding her that way. "I like that idea," he whispered. And then thinking for a second, he added, "As long as my wife is there with me."

A sharp jab of her finger into his ribs was all the response he got at first. And then it was eventually followed by a soft, "She will be." After a moment, her hand reached up and her fingers tenderly touched his cheek. He looked down into her eyes. He had so many questions...

"Andrew," she said, fixing her gaze on him, "I'm pregnant."

His eyes widened, which she took as a sign of disbelief. She nodded and said, "About six weeks. Remember when-"

"Yeah, I remember six weeks ago," he interrupted in an awed voice. All four kids napping at the same time, ten hurried minutes in the locked, darkened guestroom (since their oldest had fallen asleep on their bed), and a broken condom. He stood in a daze, holding the woman of his dreams, stunned by all that had happened in the past few hours. Against all odds, he felt his libido stirring again.

"I know I've been a little off lately, honey, and I'm-"

He squeezed her a little tighter, silencing her for a moment. He kissed her forehead and said, "Happy Birthday, Gina."

*******